The Boy In The Mirror

What Sullivan saw when he approached the small, silver-edged mirror in the basement was a boy who excelled in everything. He wasn’t easy on the eyes, but that’s what Sullivan wanted.

He saw a boy in the mirror who earned a scholarship with the headmaster’s blessing, who raised his hand on every answer. He saw a boy who spent his nights reading by silent candle rather than the oppressive swell of Quidditch field roars.

He saw a boy who faded into the background instead being forced to the forefront. He saw a boy who didn’t care to walk the delicate tightrope Sullivan himself had been resigned to, a boy who said what he thought. He saw a boy whose family was real and flawed, who didn’t have his life laid out of a silver platter.

In his pressed clothes, combed hair, he ran his hand over new schoolbooks and shifted in the tightness of new school shoes, staring at the reflection of a scowling, unhygienic, genius no one else would ever see.

Sullivan saw a person he could never be.